“Are you hurt anywhere?” he asked as he released her. His eyes scanned her body for signs of injury from the crash. Ellie touched the back of her neck but didn’t say anything, and Nate realized that he’d yet to hear her sweet voice since he walked in the door. “Did you hurt your neck?” Again, she merely tapped the back of her neck, and he looked at Mrs. Coleman in concern. “Why isn’t she talking?”
“It’s not unusual after a trauma,” she replied kindly. “I’m not a doctor, but I’ve seen a lot of children who react this way to a tragedy. I’m sure she’ll come around, but I’d definitely suggest that she be seen by a psychologist.”
“Of course,” Nate nodded as he swept Ellie’s hair aside to look at her neck. “They told me she had no serious injuries, but they didn’t go into any more detail than that. Is this the only thing that needed stitches?”
“Yes. She had some scrapes and bruises, but nothing more.”
Ellie twisted away from her father and returned to the sofa, settling herself next to Owen once more, who immediately put an arm around her shoulders. She didn’t have a problem with being touched the way he did, but she hated the cut on her neck. She could always feel it, either when her hair brushed across it or when the stitches pulled a little if she moved in certain ways. It was a constant reminder of her mother, and Ellie didn’t want to think of her. It hurt too much. She tried to remember her mother’s smile and kind voice, but her pleasant memories were swallowed by the image of Celia’s lifeless green eyes and the sound of her sputtering cough.
Ellie instinctively hid her face against Owen, as she’d gotten into the habit of doing over the past two weeks. Something about his mere presence made her feel safe in this strange place with these strange people. He hadn’t even spoken to her all that often, but she knew that the fact that he’d talked to her at all meant something, since he still refused to speak to anyone else. He’d stayed with her almost every night, protecting her from bad dreams and reassuring her that she wasn’t alone. Ellie didn’t understand why he didn’t have a family or what had happened to him before he came to live with the Colemans. She didn’t know why he kept trying to feed her or why he was so afraid of everyone but her.
What she did know, however, was that he was safe. She’d realized very quickly that he wouldn’t hurt her or make fun of her, as some of the other children in the home had tried to do. He wouldn’t be angry with her if she told him how her mother died, how scared she’d been, how it had been all her fault... She’d been mad at Mommy and had cried for Daddy, and her wish had made Mommy go away.
“Ellie…” Nate's gentle voice reached her ears. She peeked at him from where her chin rested on Owen’s shoulder. “It’s time to go, sweetheart. Say goodbye to your friend.”
Ellie squeezed her eyes shut as she hugged Owen, and he clung to her just as tightly. Owen had learned long ago that there was no point in crying about anything. He’d cried in pain and hunger many times, and no one had ever done anything about either problem, so he’d simply given it up. But he couldn’t help the tears that fell over his cheeks now. Ellie was the first good thing he’d ever had in his life, his first true friend. Now he was losing her, and he knew that she was going somewhere very far away.
Nate watched the two children with a sad smile, his eyes flickering to Mrs. Coleman, who wore a similar expression. She caught his gaze and sighed.
“He’s been through a lot too. He hasn’t talked to anyone but her, and vice versa. They’ve been good for each other. They’re actually the same age, though they don’t look it. He was very neglected before he came to us.”
“Jesus,” Nate cursed, examining Owen with more interest. He couldn’t understand how anyone could treat a child that way. “Will he be okay?”
“I hope so. His adoption is in progress, so he’ll be with his new family soon.”
“Well, that’s good. I’m glad they could help each other, even if just for a little while. I hate that it took them so long to contact me. I’d have been here right away if I’d known.”
“You’re here now; that’s what matters. I’m very sorry for your loss,” she said kindly.
“Thank you,” Nate nodded, turning his gaze back to his daughter. “Ready to go home, Ellie?”
Ellie tried to detach herself from Owen’s embrace, but he sobbed and held on tighter. The adults exchanged a reluctant glance and crossed the room toward them. After some careful soothing and encouragement, they managed to separate the two children, and Nate lifted his daughter into his arms. He thanked Mrs. Coleman again as he took hold of the small bag that was filled with what little had survived the accident and headed out the door.
Owen stood behind the storm door and watched them walk toward the rental car through watery eyes. As soon as Ellie realized that her father meant to buckle her into the backseat of a car, she began to buck and twist in his arms. Her screams of fear echoed with Owen’s screams of frustration that he couldn’t get to her. In a panic, the little boy slammed his palms against the glass and futilely tried to open the door.
Mrs. Coleman watched with wide eyes as both children had near-identical meltdowns. She wanted to offer Nate a hand with his daughter, but Owen needed her help too. She knelt on the floor next to him and spoke as gently as she could while still raising her voice to be heard over his. She knew that if she touched him, it would only make things worse. Her gaze shifted to the car in her driveway, and she saw that Nate had managed to get Ellie into the backseat. She couldn’t hear the little girl’s cries anymore, but she could see her face through the window, and it was clear that Ellie hadn’t calmed down. Owen could see that as well, and he continued to beat his tiny hands against the glass. Through his sobs, Mrs. Coleman heard him utter a single word, and her heart clenched sympathetically.
“Ellie.”
It was the last word he would speak for a very long time.
Chapter 3
December 1996
Vera Monroe directed her best beauty contestant smile into the camera lens as the photographer snapped a picture to commemorate the adoption of the frail little boy who sat on her lap. Henceforth, he would be Owen Monroe, and although he still refused to speak to anyone, his appearance in the photograph was truly worth a thousand words. His expression was flat and emotionless, but there was a haunted quality about his eyes. His small hands were encased in his adoptive mother’s, but no one could tell that she was squeezing them almost painfully tight, as though warning him to behave himself at least for long enough to keep up appearances. He detested being touched, especially by her, but she was being very careful to avoid contact with any other part of his body. In quiet resignation, he forced himself to stay still.
Edward Monroe sat on Owen’s opposite side, wearing his usual placating smile. He was largely ambivalent toward the whole situation, having little interest in a four-year-old child. His business was his life, and he didn’t pay attention to much else. He made sure that his wife had the expensive things she wanted, but beyond that, they didn’t have much of a relationship. She was a trophy wife and little more.
Vera had miscarried a child the previous year, but as neither of them had been particularly attached to the pregnancy, they hadn’t felt the need to mourn the loss. They’d never even discussed the prospect of having children prior to the miscarriage, and Edward had gotten the impression that his wife had been relieved rather than devastated. It came as a surprise, therefore, that Vera had been willing to listen when their friends, Sean and Mary Langford, had come to them with the suggestion that they consider adoption. Edward had wondered if perhaps he’d read the situation wrong.
In truth, he’d discerned his wife’s state of mind rather well regarding the pregnancy loss, though she had lied to him and everyone else about how it had happened. It hadn’t been a miscarriage at all but rather an abortion, executed more out of fear of losing her figure than anything else.
If anyone had known the true nature of Vera Monroe, no one in their right mind would have allow
ed her to own a puppy, much less become someone’s mother, but her public persona made her a perfect choice. Sean and Mary had decided with regret that they simply didn’t have the time or energy to give Owen the help he needed, but the decision had left Mary with a considerable measure of guilt. She knew that Owen had connected with her, perhaps more than with anyone else up to that point, and she definitely felt a maternal bond with him. Although she and her husband would have loved to add another child to their family, it simply wasn’t meant to be. Between their demanding work schedules and helping their son, Eric, with his behavior issues, they were already spread too thin and feeling overwhelmed. Mary had been on the fence about the issue, but eventually, Sean had convinced her to find another solution.
Mary had recalled Vera’s miscarriage as well as the way her friend had been with Eric since they’d first adopted him. The boy had never really taken to Vera, but it hadn’t been for a lack of effort on Vera’s part. Mary had watched her try to bond with him many times, and she’d been certain that she’d seen a hint of longing in her eyes. Although she hadn’t pried into her friend’s personal matters, Mary did know of the miscarriage and had assumed that Vera, like herself, was unable to conceive.
When Mary had told Vera about Owen and broached the subject of adoption, she hadn’t been certain that it was even an idea her friend would be willing to entertain. The decision to adopt a troubled child wasn’t an easy one, and it took a special kind of person to be willing to turn their lives upside down for a child who wasn’t biologically related. Vera had seemed wary of the idea at first and had insisted upon meeting Owen in person before deciding whether to pursue it.
Unbeknownst to Mary or anyone else, Vera’s attempts to bond with little Eric Langford hadn’t been born of a maternal inclination but of something sinister. She’d always felt a strong attraction to younger men, even teenage boys, and it was clear to her that Eric would grow up to be a very good looking young man. Fortunately, Eric was a good judge of character, despite being only five years old. He’d never warmed up to her and had consistently ignore her numerous attempts to bond with him, and Vera was eventually forced to accept that he wasn’t receptive to her grooming.
She hadn’t considered the prospect of adopting a child of her own, however, until Mary had broached the subject with her one afternoon. Mary had just come from visiting one of her patients in the temporary foster home where he was staying, and when Vera listened to her friend describe the little boy, she was immediately intrigued. A child who reacted so badly to physical touch would be tough to break, but not impossible. In fact, it seemed like the sort of challenge that she might even enjoy. Vera had managed to conceal the nature of her interest in the child and insisted that she wanted to meet him in person before giving the idea further consideration.
A few days later, Mary had arranged a visit to the modestly appointed foster home, and Vera’s decision was made almost instantly. Even bruised, malnourished, and wearing ill-fitting, second-hand clothing, she could see the handsome teenager Owen would become. But even above that promise of something great in the distant future, there was something in his eyes that resonated with her. Vera could see that Owen was much stronger than he was letting on, and this both intrigued and satisfied her.
Edward had no real interest in a child, but he had come around to the idea with relative ease. If this was what his wife wanted, he saw no reason to object. He supposed that having a namesake to pass his business along to when he retired would be a good thing, but at this point, a child was of little use to him. There wasn’t much he could do to prepare a four-year-old for the business world, so he was content to let his wife do the bulk of the child-rearing until Owen got a little older.
Mary watched the Monroes finish up with the photographer and collect their things, and she tried to ignore the ache in her chest. As Sean had pointed out more than once, Owen would be better off with parents who could devote themselves fully to helping him overcome his obstacles. They were family friends, so it wasn’t as though Mary would never get to see him.
She smiled at the little boy now walking between his new parents and knelt down to speak to him. Mary held out a hand and waited to see if he would take it voluntarily. Owen merely stood in place, and since everyone was watching him, no one caught the flicker of cold disapproval in Vera’s eyes. Mary smiled at him compassionately and withdrew her hand.
“You have a wonderful family now, darling,” she said sweetly. “They’re going to take very good care of you.”
1997
The first year of Owen’s life with the Monroes was extraordinarily difficult. Edward was both physically and emotionally absent from his son’s life most of the time, and although Vera was a good mother in public, she was a horrible one behind closed doors. Even at his young age, it didn’t take Owen long to understand that his new mother was a completely different person when other people were around as compared to when the two of them were alone.
She spoke to their friends and to his teachers with the sparkling personality of a reigning beauty queen, soaking up their compliments for her expensive possessions and their praise for her adorable, well-behaved son. Owen was always dressed impeccably and never uttered a word unless someone addressed him directly. In the Monroes’ social circles, children were often expected to be seen and not heard, if they were seen at all. The Langfords were the only people who knew the sort of life Owen had come from, and they took his selective mutism to be an improvement over the complete silence he’d kept when they’d first met him. He looked healthier in general, albeit still on the small side for his age, and they took that as a sign of progress as well.
No one knew what really went on when Vera was alone with her son. No one had any idea that the abuse Owen suffered at her hands was much worse than anything he’d received from his biological mother.
In the early days after the adoption, Owen had continued to struggle with psychological issues related to food. His habit of stealing and hoarding it had followed him from the Colemans, and when Vera had caught him, her punishment had only made matters worse. Where Rebecca Harris had, for the most part, simply neglected to keep food in their apartment, Vera Monroe took a much crueler approach. She withheld food as a punishment, often sending Owen to bed without dinner. On more than one occasion, she had forced him to watch while she ate some sort of delicious treat, knowing full well that her son’s stomach was empty and aching with hunger. He stopped trying to hide food after a few months of that cruelty, but Vera now knew that it was a weakness she could exploit in the future.
Addressing Owen’s fear of touch and refusal to speak was a more complicated matter, however, and Mary’s near-constant efforts to help meant that Vera was forced to cart her son around Chicago to multiple speech and behavioral therapists. If not for the desire to keep up appearances, Vera really couldn’t have cared less whether or not Owen could tolerate human touch. His persistent phobia meant that he was remarkably self-sufficient for a young child. He bathed, dressed, and groomed himself entirely without adult assistance, and that suited Vera very well, as she had no true interest in mothering a young child. His preschool teachers and doctors were concerned, however, which meant that something had to be done.
After six months of regular therapies and no real progress, Vera changed tactics. The best way to cure Owen of his shortcomings, she decided, was to beat them out of him. He had just turned five the first time she raised a hand to him, and although she hadn’t been the first adult to strike him, she’d still managed to catch him by surprise. Vera knew that with the start of kindergarten approaching, she would be under even more pressure to produce a child who behaved normally as opposed to a runt of a boy who didn’t make a sound except to scream if someone touched him.
She always kept the bruises on parts of his body that were hidden beneath his clothing, and to her immense satisfaction, Owen spoke his first word to her after only three beatings. The word was ‘stop.’ But Vera didn’t cease until she’d coax
ed another out of him. Please.
Over the months that followed, the beatings continued until he no longer reacted violently to being touched by others. It soon became clear to Vera that pain was the best way to achieve results with her son, and after that realization, shaping him into a well-mannered little gentleman didn’t take long at all. When others were present, he behaved more like an adult than a child, earning Vera the praise and compliments she craved from her society friends.
The only thing she couldn’t force Owen to do at such a young age was smile. He was impeccably polite but incredibly withdrawn and reserved. Since he didn’t speak unless spoken to, he didn’t make friends at school, and his constant focus was on laying low so as not to provoke his mother. Only in the dark, silent solitude of his bedroom each night did he allow his lips to curve upward ever so slightly at the memory of the only friend he’d ever known.
Ellie.
On one of the rare occasions that he’d dared to ask his new parents for anything, Owen had quietly implored them to find out what happened to the girl who had stayed with him in the foster home. Only his intense need to know that she was well and safe could have given him the courage to make such a request. Edward had seemed to consider it momentarily, but Owen’s hopes were dashed by his mother’s quick and decisive no.
“It would be a complete waste of time and energy,” she’d scoffed. “You may as well forget her because I’m sure she’s forgotten all about you.”
Edward had frowned a little at his wife’s unkind words, but he hadn’t thought it worth starting an argument with her. There was no question that she was the one who did the majority of the parenting, and whatever she was doing seemed to be working. The boy was talking and interacting like a normal person, so he figured Vera had clearly done something right.
Ember (Constant Flame Duet Book 1) Page 3
